Forces
by Ally1251
Summary: Carol's alias as the mild mannered 'wash-and-dry den mother' could hardly been seen spending more time than was necessary with the feral, 'skins-dead-animals-on-the-front-porch' Daryl Dixon. Despite the fact the residents of Alexandria knew that they had been part of the same group, her cover story in conjunction with his company didn't match up.


Title: Forces

Pairing: Daryl and Carol

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: MA for mild profanities and romantic themes.

Inspired by the song "Forces" by Japanese Wallpaper. Set at the beginning of Season 6, I got this idea imagining what would happen between my two favourite characters in the aftermath of the end of Season 5.

Huge spoilers ahead, don't read if you haven't seen the last episode of Season 5.

* * *

Carol caught Daryl's eye from across the circle of the gathering, their family standing together, every face drawn and uneasy. It had been a trying night to say the least with one terrifying event following another.

Rick had summoned his group together but he was pressed for time. He needed to get back to Deanna, there was the issue of her Reg and Pete's blood splattered all over the pavement to attend to. Morgan was hovering on the fringes of the circle, eyeing Rick, anxious for a private discussion. Glen and Nicolas had stumbled through the gates barely supporting each other, covered in blood and sporting several unexplained injuries. Yet another member of Rick's family was deported to the makeshift hospital, a hospital that had now lost its only qualified surgeon.

Rick bade everyone goodnight, issuing final orders for members of the group to take watch as a precautionary measure. Even with the shocking accounts of the day that had been, Rick still maintained his leadership over the group, determined and in charge. There was seldom any rest for Rick Grimes.

The group disbanded towards the two houses at the end of the street, each wishing another a hasty goodnight in order return to their beds or watch stations. Daryl caught up to her quickly, she had slowed her pace on purpose wanting to walk together.

"You okay?" he murmured, his fingers brushing her elbow as they matched strides down the clean pavement.

"More worried about you," she turned to him, studying his face, "What happened on the recruiting run? Who's this guy Morgan?"

"Long story," he breathed, "You headin' back to the houses? I was gon' take watch."

"You don't need to take watch," she chided him half exasperated, half amused, "When was the last time you slept? Michonne and Abraham are perfectly capable, and you need to rest."

He grunted in reply and said nothing more. He certainly looked worse for wear, his clothes spattered in what she could only assume were decaying walker remains, which meant they had had an encounter with the undead at the very least. She hated that it had turned out this way.

Carol; performing the happy go lucky housewife and Daryl out of the road risking his life to bring in new members to the safe zone. They all had parts to play in this town, and she was certain hers would become of value down the track. Indeed, it had already proven an advantage when dealing with the pathetic wife beater and acquiring additional weapons for the group. It still didn't seem fair the he had to do all the heavy lifting.

Thiers was a relationship different to anything she had experienced with the other members of the group. The last few years surviving on the road, a bond had formed, a connection that neither would bring themselves to talk about but one that existed like an unspoken rule. They had become a pair, one rarely seen without the other.

That was until they had arrived at Alexandria.

From day one, it had been nothing but interviews, meetings with Deanna, assigning of jobs throughout the community, many of their group struggling to assimilate into this new way of life. Carol had busied herself with menial tasks of cooking casseroles, chatting to neighbours and acting like it was a sheer miracle she had even survived this long.

Daryl, pent up and anxious in this suburban wasteland had leapt at the opportunity to travel outside the walls with Aaron as a second recruiter. To be back in the wilderness, where he could breathe, where he felt like he belonged and where his skills would be useful.

Sadly, this had meant that they rarely had chance to speak to each other in the month they had arrived the town.

Carol's alias as the mild mannered 'wash-and-dry den mother' could hardly been seen spending more time than was necessary with the feral, 'skins-dead-animals-on-the-front-porch' Daryl Dixon. Despite the fact the residents of Alexandria knew that they had been part of the same group, her cover story in conjunction with his company didn't match up.

It made more sense for the both of them to be perceived by the town as traveling companions who barely tolerated each other's presence. They had only had spoken briefly in between secret meetings with Rick, their quick excursions to the house where they had stashed the guns, as well as the occasional flash of a discreet smile when passing each other on the street. Aside from that, contact with each other had been minimal, and it was slowly getting to her as much as she tried not to show it.

Regardless, they had both made efforts to remain part of each other's lives. Last week she had stowed a bag of dried fruit into his hunting pack the night before he and Aaron left for another recruiting run. Days later, she was repaid in kind with a bunch of wild flowers stuffed unceremoniously into a whiskey jar placed on her bedside table.

She had no idea when he had had found the time to pick her flowers while out on the road, and she could only imagine the awkward questions asked by Aaron, which Daryl would have no doubt brushed off with a glare and a grunt. But she loved the gesture; it was a reminder that they hadn't forgotten about each other in this suffocating and dreary town, tied down by their own roles.

Lost in thought, she chanced a glance at his face, and saw a weary man staring at the ground. His face was filthy and streaked with blood and sweat, his long hair lying in lank strands shadowing his face. They arrived at the first house and walked up the steps through the door together.

"Are you hungry? I have some leftovers from last night if you wanna eat."

"Yeah," he said quietly "Food wouldn't go down too badly. Ya want some too?"

"I'm good, but I'll fix it. Go wash up, I pretty sure you have a chunk of walker ear on your shirt," she smirked and pushed him towards the stairs "Go on."

"Don't fuss woman," he muttered, trudging up the steps towards the bathroom. Carol busied herself in the kitchen. She could hear water running upstairs, the family settling in for the night, the occasional mummers of voices in the bedrooms, the comforting white noise of domesticated life.

Wiping down the counter, more from habit than necessity, she considered how fortunate they were to have all of this; beds, a roof over their heads, together and safe. Despite the naivety of the Alexandrian residents, Michonne was right; they had been out _there_ for too long. Sanctuary from the outside, however tiresome it may be, was worth the façade she lived every day.

She took a bowl from the fridge and headed to the porch, settling on the outdoor lounge, weary from the events that had taken place hours ago. The night was cool but she needed the fresh air.

The anxiety associated with the lead up to the town forum, the foolish a decision made by Deanna to facilitate gossip and fear amongst the scared and misinformed residents, and the knowledge that if it all went to hell, they'd had another war on their hands; it had all built up inside of her.

Trying to remain calm and chirpy during the meeting, making up for Ricks evident and inexcusable absence. The brutal murders of Reg and consequently, Pete's execution had done nothing to calm her nerves. She held her head in her hands, kneading her temples, taking a deep breath.

She could hear his steps approaching, the screen door closing and his weight as he sat down next to her. He shuffled, pulling the lounge pillows from beneath him and tossing them messily to the floor like an impatient child.

She handed him the bowl wordlessly and smiled in amusement as he demolished the large serving of cold spaghetti. He ate in what many residents of Alexandria, nay, survivors of the apocalypse would probably regard as off-putting, messy and with a great disregard for decorum.

"Thanks," he said indistinctly, placing the bowl on the ground and leaning back, slightly more relaxed, though she noticed he had kept his crossbow close by the arm of the lounge. He appeared less grimy, at the very least he had washed his face and changed his shirt, though he still insisted on wearing that filthy leather vest despite her best attempts to chisel it off of him and wash it.

They were silent for a long time, listening to the insects with their night songs, an occasional moan of a walker from behind the wall. Their conversation began tentatively; lengths of silence, sideways glances, shy smiles, more silence, until she felt that he was ready to talk.

He told her the story of how he and Aaron had come across a compound with three trucks and shipping containers, labelled with a canned goods logo. They had been tracking a man in a red poncho, hoping to catch up with him in order to convince him to join the town of Alexandria. What had followed was a horrifying account of yet another near escape from death, meeting the stranger Morgan, and finding their way back to Alexandria, only to stumble upon a scene of complete chaos.

She told him of Rick and Pete's street brawl, Michonne putting him down with a punch before Rick made a complete tyrant of himself and got the whole group banished out of the walls. Their plans, depending on how the forum went, and then events that followed when Rick arrived at the meeting, drenched in blood and walker guts, heaving the corpse before the terrified civilians. Pete's drunken arrival and Reg's untimely death at the hand of Michonne's stolen katana.

They were silent once more, both reeling from the news of each others' stories, until a question formed in Carols mind.

"So…Morgan saved you and Aaron? How?"

"Distracted the walkers, made a path for us, we fought our way through."

"… How long were you trapped in that car, though?"

He shrugged, reached into his jeans pocket for something, a cigarette and a lighter, "Dunno, maybe an hour?"

She pursed her lips, not wanting to overload him with unnecessary questions. At times it seemed like Daryl had a maximum allotment of words for the day, and if he spoke too much too soon he would take off like a spooked deer. The question sprung from her lips before she could stop herself.

"So what was your plan? Trapped in the car with Aaron? Until Morgan arrived?"

She had figured the answer before he had said a word, and it made her feel physically ill.

"Like you said, we were trapped," he muttered, slipping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it with a snap of his lighter, "Not a lot of options. I told Aaron I'd distract the walkers, he could make a run for it, of course; he wouldn't do that. We decided to fight our way through. Then, Morgan showed up," he exhaled grey smoke into the night air, reclining with his arms behind his head. Carol dealt with her own inner turmoil.

Daryl had nearly died today. It had been random stroke of luck that this stranger had come by at the right time. He could have never come back to Alexandria. She would have never seen him again. If things had transpired differently, he wouldn't be sitting here with her now.

A thousand thoughts raced through her head. Primarily, thoughts that centred on the panic amounting inside her chest: she never wanted him to leave through those gates again. She wanted him stay here in safety, as choking and as smothering as it was; it meant he would still be around to see the light of another day. Why the hell did he have to be so noble and offer to sacrifice himself for Aaron's minimal chances of survival? Didn't he realise that he had a family to come home to as well? Didn't he realise… That she was waiting for him back here?

Another part raged within her and she asked herself how would _she_ would feel if Daryl was the one forcing her to stay back. They lived in an awful, dangerous, God-forsaken world, but it was a world that required skill and action to survive, and that meant taking chances. Who was she to say what he should and shouldn't do?

Instead of voicing her thoughts, she threw a glare in his direction as she watched him take another drag on his cigarette.

"You still smoking those things? You know that even _before_ the world went to hell they were bad for you, right?"

He fixed her with a beady eye and snorted, choosing not to tell her that these particular cigarettes had been the ten second buffer between him and a violent death hours ago. She accepted that her nagging was a lost cause and settled back into the lounge. They sat for a while in silence until he was the first to break.

"It's all gonna go down pretty soon…" he spoke abruptly, "Don't know how much longer we gonna have here."

She nodded, glad that he knew it too, this brief window of safety was going to close sooner rather than later, especially with the events that had transpired tonight. She was not unfazed by his statement, but felt that they were at least standing on solid ground with this predicament. Their group was strong and world wise, with the right strategy and solidarity they would be able handle anything.

"Well, at least we've got a plan. We just need to see how this turns out. Be prepared when things go wrong."

He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette on the wooden floor and flicking the butt over the porch fence. He leant forward, hands clasped in his lap, averting his eyes from her. Carol got the sense he was trying to find the words to say something. And the silence stretched on.

"You okay?"

"Carol…" he started, pausing to find the right words, "When everythin' goes to shit, and we know it's gonna. Just…." He chanced a look at her, then back to his hands. He looked tortured by his lack of words.

"What it is?"

"Just, when it does go wrong, promise… Promise me that you'll stay close."

"Stay close?" She repeated, not certain where he was going with this.

"Yeah. Stay close, stay near me. Don't lose sight of me." She didn't say anything as the words settled over her and she drew meaning from them. Her heart pounded in her chest, waiting for him to go on.

"I… I don't wanna lose you again," he stalled, searching for words, "I can't… Lose you. So, stay close." He ended simply, a fiery blush creeping up his neck and over his face.

As the last words fell, he stubbornly kept his gaze focused on an uneven plank on the porch. Uncomfortable with her lack of words, he finally relented, meeting her gaze with full force. She had tried in vain to blink back the tears that had formed in her eyes but she was doing a poor job.

Carol didn't cry anymore, at least not tears of fear or grief or for her lost daughter Sophia, for Lizzie and Mika, or for all the never ending horror she had had happen to her, and all of the horror she had inflicted on others. The blood on her hands. The things she had done. She didn't cry for that anymore. But his words had shifted something in her.

"Hey now," he was embarrassed, not knowing what to do with his hands, "Sorry. Didn't mean to make ya…"

His words were cut sort, she had closed the space between them winding her arms around his chest, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Seconds later she felt him relax and wrap his strong arms around her, holding her tightly. She didn't want to let go, she felt anchored to this moment, despite the events that had transpired over the last month, it finally felt like some part of her real self was coming back together.

Carol looked up to his face, her cheek grazing his shoulder.

"This close enough?" she said flirtingly, she was rewarded with a rare chuckle.

"Yea, this is good."

This was unfamiliar territory for them, this prolonged physical intimacy. He seemed content to sit together, Carol listening to the sounds of his breathing and taking in the smell that was Daryl, a heady mix of sweat, leather, pine needles and gasoline. It brought back memories of every connection they had made during their lives together. Every single one of their small nudges, reassuring touches; hesitant yet assured. When he ran to her at the outskirts of Terminus, throwing himself into her arms, holding her tighter than anyone had ever held her. She had known then, without a doubt that he had felt her absence as much as she had for him during her banishment.

How they had depended on each other when entering Atlanta city on Beth's rescue mission. Him sacrificing a night of sleep in order to deal with the child walkers, just so she didn't have to face another dead kid. When he couldn't breathe, choking on tears in the hospital ward as Beth's blood painted the floor. His gun unsteadily pointed and wanting to shoot everything in sight, her hand had been the only thing to bring his back to the terrifying reality they faced.

When she had kissed him in the woods wanting, just for a second, for him to feel a fraction of the love that she held for him. Torn to pieces over Beth's death, she knew he was hurting more than he'd ever let on and it broke her heart to see him that way.

An uneasy feeling crept into her chest, she wanted to bury the thought forming in her mind, but if not Daryl, who could she talk to? He was the only person in this world she trusted implicitly, and if there was a time to tell it straight, now was it. She drew a deep breath.

"… I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Wha's that?"

"Not seeing you… Not being around you. Staying here while you go on your runs," she sighed, wanting to be completely honest with him, for the first time in weeks, she wanted to tell someone exactly what was bothering her, "Not knowing if you're ever coming back," she swallowed, brows furrowed, "I hate it. It needs to be done, but I hate it."

He glanced at her from the side, something rose up inside him, a feeling that made his chest ache. Perhaps because she had just voiced precisely how he felt, but his mouth was open and words were tumbling out before he could stop.

"It ain't so easy on me neither. Going out there, not knowing if you're gonna be here when I get back."

She relented her hold on him, confused, "Why would I not be here?"

He was silent for seconds, staring straight ahead, again refusing to meet her eyes. His arm dropped from hers and she felt the absence of its warmth immediately.

"Daryl?" she demanded.

"Sometimes… I get ya know, bothered or whatever. That ya gonna shoot off again by yourself."

She understood. Of course, it made sense for him to feel this way, she had left so many questions unanswered for him, betraying him with her inability to assimilate back into the group. She wouldn't forgive herself for trying to leave her family at the church in the dead of the night, despite the fact it lead to them discovering Beth whereabouts. How long had he felt like this?

"I told you why I left that night. I couldn't take it. I didn't want to see anyone get hurt, seeing you all there, happy and safe, planning a trip to Washington. Knowing it could all be over the next day. It was too much."

"So your solution was to leave? Git up and go? Just so you didn't have ta' deal with the shit anymore?" his temper flared, feeling the anger creep up under his skin.

"You stopped me though," she countered.

"Yea, and what if I hadn't?!" he shot back.

"… I don't know."

"Course you don't," he snapped.

Their silence was cold. It had changed so quickly, he felt like he was caught in a vicious storm of emotion, frustrated with himself for bringing up old arguments, stuff he knew was hard for her to talk about; especially just when things were finally starting to go okay for once.

But this had bothered him often during his recruiting runs with Aaron. He would never admit it to any one, but the two houses the group shared were always his first port of calling upon returning. He'd walk in, check with their people, needing to see her with his own eyes until he could start really breathing again.

He was certain with all of this fake shit she was keeping up it would be a matter of time until she snapped and did another disappearing act. The thought terrified him.

He hissed through his teeth, itching to get up and do a runner himself, utterly ashamed of how he had acted. He stood to leave, heading towards the steps only to hear her footsteps echo his.

She had reached for his fingers from behind, slipping her warm palm into his calloused hand. He looked down at their fingers bound together and with a stubborn twist, he turned back to her.

"Daryl," she started softly, "I promise I will never leave again."

He looked troubled by her vow, shaking his head softly.

"No guarantees in life, 'specially now."

"This one is," her voice was horse with emotion, "I swear to you. This is my family," she paused, eyes flicking to the ground, finding courage, "You… Are my family. I'm not going anywhere."

She refused to tear her gaze away from his, wanting him to understand now more than ever that she was here, despite everything that had happened to them, above everything else, she was here with him in this moment and she wasn't letting him go.

His face softened, wanting desperately to look anywhere else but directly into her eyes. He didn't know what to say or how to act in this situation. She was literally inches from his face and he knew what he wanted to do, but he had no idea how to do it. He could take out a crowd of walkers with nothing but two arrows and a hunting knife, but making a move on her? Why was this so god damn hard?

Drawing a shaky breath, he took a single step forward, his hand unsteady, coming to rest on the line of her jaw. She didn't flinch from his touch, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a gentle smile. His fingers grazed her skin, his thumb tracing mindless patterns. She closed the space between them with one decisive movement.

Her breath became his, the smell of her, his vision clouded by her, his head swimming. Her eyes flickered to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

And he finally understood what he needed to do. Without a hint of trepidation he pressed his mouth against hers, and the world and all of its unrelenting horrors melted into oblivion.

They were fire and flames, alight with each other. His lips were rough but warm, brushing against her mouth with a gentleness that made her knees buckle, and so she wound her arms around his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.

His fingers trailing behind her ear, wrapping around the base of her skull, tying her closer. He felt like she could never be close enough. He kissed her hard, teeth grazing her bottom lip, she responded in equal measure, pressing into him, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back, hitting his head on the wooden wall with a dull thud.

"Ow," he mumbled against her lips, smiling.

"Sorry," she giggled, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, her hand stroking the back of his head, taking a few seconds to appreciate what had just transpired between them.

The haze was broken by the sound of heavy booted footsteps racing to the front door.

They broke apart seconds before the door swung open and Abraham stood there, aiming his rifle menacingly at their faces.

"What the sweet fuck is going on out here?! I heard a commotion!" he was tense, startled, but his features gathered relief with every passing second.

Carol, not entirely sure how busted they were, made an attempt to play it cool. The intrusion by the hulking army veteran had sent her decades back to being interrogated by her parents in her high school years.

"Nothing Abraham, and I wouldn't go so far as to say it was a 'commotion'. I stubbed my toe on the door jam, " she shrugged, "Sorry to disturb you."

He narrowed his eyes at them, and she could practically hear the cogs in his mind turning and putting two and two together. She was suddenly very aware of how tousled Daryl's hair was and felt a dark blush creep into her cheeks. After a few seconds, he lowered his gun, relaxing, and straightened up.

"Alright then. Just a little jumpy I guess, though who could blame me. Rosita's still at the hospital with Tara but she's coming back to take watch soon. There any news on Glen?"

Carol felt a rush of guilt, Glen was of course, being patched up in the hospital having arrived back in Alexandria after the town meeting. He hadn't explained to anyone but Maggie as to what had happened in the woods with Nicolas, but by the look of both of their wounds, it hadn't been an entirely civil encounter. He would be lying there, next to a now conscious Tara, probably in a lot of pain. It was at least comforting to know the Maggie and Tara would be by his side until morning.

"Gonna go see him tomorrow," Daryl interjected, saving her from her thoughts, "Heard he's pretty beaten up, but he'll live."

"Yeah, he's a tough son-of-a-bitch, and that's coming from someone who's taken a punch from him." Abraham fixed them with a final suspicious stare and shouldered his rifle, "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'll be upstairs, holler if you hear anything."

"Goodnight," Carol smiled as Abraham walked strode through the front door, screen slamming behind him.

Her heart still hammering from their near discovery, she turned back to him, "Well…"

"We probably… Shouldn't be seen, ya know, makin' out and stuff while all this bad shit is goin' on."

She laughed at his choice of phrasing; although realising mid laugh it had been an accurate description. He looked away shyly, breathing a laugh, hand scratching the back of his head, caught off guard and suddenly nervous.

"You could do with some sleep?" she offered eager to break the tension, taking a seat on the couch.

"Sleep?" like it was a foreign concept to him, "Yeah, I spose'."

"This couch actually isn't too bad. Pretty comfortable now that I think about it."

"Oh," he was confused, knowing she had a bed upstairs, wondering why on earth she would want to sleep outside when there were four walls available.

"Okay," he set his crossbow down by the back by the lounge, "You take the couch, I'll settle here…"

She interrupted him with a tug on his wrist, pulling him back to the cushions, and in seconds they were right back where they had left off. Daryl had a feeling that not a lot of sleep would be accomplished by either of them tonight.

* * *

Daryl's eyes sprang open, it took him a few moments before remembered where he was, sprawled out on the couch on the porch. He had fallen asleep here many times before, after runs with Aaron, exhausted and seeking a familiar place. He hadn't ever imagined he'd be sleeping the way he was now.

Carols legs were splayed over his lap, she slept peacefully, stretched along the soft cushions, a pillow wedged under her grey curls.

He tried not a move quickly, knowing that the groups' past experiences of sleeping in the woods and on the road would mean that any stir from him would likely result in her immediate awakening. He wasn't wrong, seconds after wrapping a hand around her ankle to disentangle their limbs she had moved in a strike as quick as a snake, twisting and reaching for her knife before seeing him in the darkness, realising where she was. She threw him a tired, apologetic look and settled back into her pillow. It was still dark, a faint trace of grey coming up in the horizon, an hour before dawn.

"I fell asleep," she said softly, closing her eyes again.

"Yea, me too."

He was too alert now. There were things to do, track down Rick or Morgan and start making plans for the future of Alexandria. Rick would not have slept yet, he felt a twinge of guilt, he would find him first and offer to step in while their leader got some rest. Then to prepare for the ugly day ahead of them.

He rose from the couch, carefully replacing Carol's legs from his lap back down on the cushions. She shuffled, curled herself into a tight ball, looking like she was content enough to go back to sleep.

In the scheme of things, last night hadn't gone as badly as Daryl had imagined. Not that he had been planning some kind of scene with her, but when he thought about him and her being alone together, the scenario usually ended with him making a damn fool of himself.

But now, standing on the porch, watching her in the darkness, as much as he would like nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms, kick in the screen door and take her upstairs to the wide and soft bed, another more practical part of him knew that their respite this evening had only been temporary. He knew in his heart this shouldn't be rushed. They couldn't be rushed.

She deserved much more than a brief, hurried tryst, with their pent up emotions flying, and then days, weeks or months of a wasteland of nothing. He wanted more than that for them. Now was not the time for what he wanted, not until they could guarantee that their family was safe. He knew she felt the same. There was work to do in order to secure a safe place that they all deserved. Where they could live without fear of a gory death or starvation or madness. And perhaps a chance to be happy if the world could give it to them.

He squatted beside the lounge reaching for his crossbow, and found himself startlingly close to her. He could see every line on her face, count her eyelashes, see the tones of ash spiralling through her hair.

Her breathing was soft and steady; he could tell she was in between the worlds of sleep and consciousness. His chest ached, and he couldn't believe that the barrier between them had been knocked down so easily, although admittedly, it had been a long time coming.

Realisation dawned on him, between them they were now free to feel, holding nothing back from each other, and what he felt now was pure and undeniable and it gave him strength, knowing she felt something of the same.

She could sense him near, her eyes opening a crack, a sleepy smile spread across her features.

"You going?" she breathed, nestling further into her pillow.

"Yea. Gonna go find Rick, offer to take watch or somethin'. I'll be back a bit later."

"M'kay. Be careful."

He turned heel to leave, but saw her hand raised, reaching for something, reaching for him, wanting. He took her hand, squeezing tight, feeling an overwhelming desire to abandon the new day and settle back next to her.

Dipping forward he kissed her softly on her temple, his lips against her warm skin. Reluctantly he broke away, standing up hastily, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He steeled himself and headed for the stairs, the longing to lay back down with her burning in him fiercer than ever.

Daryl couldn't say what the future held for them in this town or outside of the walls, but he knew like he knew the sun would rise: that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe, and that she would do the same for him.

Daryl Dixon and Carol Peletier. He smiled to himself, figuring, with a warm glow rising in his chest, that the two of them made a pretty damn good team. That would have to be enough for now.


End file.
